


Favorite Album

by ANervousBoysLife



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Folie à Deux (Fall Out Boy), Hiatus, Infinity On High (Album), Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Suffering, idk man this is something i pulled out of my ass, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:30:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8038843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANervousBoysLife/pseuds/ANervousBoysLife
Summary: this was originally gonna be my fobcc but then i decided to do some artwork instead. so this really is just a small fic dedicated to my fav fob album.





	Favorite Album

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally gonna be my fobcc but then i decided to do some artwork instead. so this really is just a small fic dedicated to my fav fob album.

When you ask Fall Out Boy which of their albums they liked the most, more often than not, you’ll hear Infinity On High, From Under The Cork Tree, American Beauty American Psycho. Really, any of them but Folie A Deux. No one really knows why they don’t prefer the album. Pete based his comic on Tiffany Blews, which features in Folie. Maybe they don’t like it due to the negative reaction it had gotten from many fans. Maybe they just grew out of the angry feel of the album. There’s a lot of theories as to why this band hates the album so much, but there’s only one truth.

* * *

Folie A Deux’s production started on tour. Specifically, the 2007 Honda Civic tour. It was the second tour for the album Infinity On High, technically. The first was spent with the group too busy trying to break world records. 

This tour, however, was stressful beyond compare. Between shows and interaction between the bands on tour with them, Patrick would urge Pete to write. Patrick would always pester at Pete, getting on his last nerves until a fight broke out. Patrick was too stubborn to apologize for the pestering, and Pete was too stubborn to apologize for the rude things he said. The two instead tried to forget it ever happened, but we all know that anger is something too hard to be forgotten.

Patrick would go to sleep angry, awakening to find a crumpled paper shoved in his bunk with suspicious water droplets that had dried smudging the ink. He never thought much of them, didn’t want to. After years of working together, Patrick was able to decipher Pete’s messy scrawl on the paper. These were the times where the lyrics were written erratically and were far too smudged.

* * *

The nights when they were privileged enough to stay at hotels were the worst. Sure, having a large and comfortable bed to sleep in was great, but Pete prefered the lulling sound of the bus driving through the night. The quiet snores of his bandmates, of whom he could no longer annoy due to their unconsciousness. He couldn’t fuck up with them asleep, and he could pretend everything was as it should be. He’d rather have the slight turns and shifts a tour bus brings. Those nights, trapped in a hotel room with four sturdy walls, were the nights his thoughts haunted him and he realized that he was losing his best friend. He realized he was pushing him away. What made it worse was that he couldn’t stop.

Patrick, too, hated hotel nights, but not for the same reason. He hated waking up, getting back on the bus, and spotting the marks on Pete’s neck. He hated seeing scratch marks when the collar of Pete’s shirt rode a little too low. He hated that while Pete was fucking some random girl and having the time of his life, Patrick was wallowing in anger and guilt. Pete was just so /irritating/ that it set Patrick off. Patrick would always hole up the day after a hotel night. He never wanted anyone to see him cry anyways. He didn’t know why he cried.

* * *

Shows, now those were really something. When Joe watched his bandmates, he noticed small shifts in attitudes. Right before shows, Pete would smell of alcohol. Patrick would seem like a shell of himself. Andy was just as worried as Joe. When they got on stage, Patrick seemed to automatically start acting. He was good at it, after all. He wasn’t anything like he was a few minutes before. Pete seemed like, well, Pete. Albeit a little more enthusiastic about the crowd. He made it his job to piss off Patrick on stage as well. He’d sneak up behind him, sing in his ear, all the theatrics. But, as soon as they were out of sight, the two didn’t look at each other. Patrick would go off to write music, Pete would write his words, leaving Joe and Andy to communicate by themselves.

* * *

There’s sounds you learn to ignore when touring in a bus with your bandmates. Most of these sounds are white noise, like the rumbling of the engine, the breathing of your friends, the shifting of items in drawers. There’s also sounds you try your hardest to ignore, but you still can’t quite do it. It’s human nature to listen, it’s hard not to. These are the sounds like grunting coming from the bunk above you, or singing in the shower. They’re the slide of skin on skin, the quiet moans from headphones turned up just a little too loudly. Those kinds of noises. Then there’s one noise that, in situations like these, you’re not sure what to do about. 

Crying. Not loud, roaring sobs, not silent intakes of breath that are just barely noticeable either. This kind of crying is when you’re not trying to look pretty, when you’re not trying to gain attention. It’s the kind of crying you do when you believe you’re truly alone. The kind of crying that only happens late into the night when depression threatens to crawl out of your walls and eat you alive. The kind of crying you do when, even in the face of a monster, there’s no chaos in you. Everything is calm but nothing is okay. That kind of crying. 

Patrick heard it as soon as he stepped onto the bus, entering only to look for his laptop and quickly leave. The crying was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t Joe’s, who tended to hiccup mid-sob and speak to himself. Patrick had never heard Andy cry, and besides, he had passed Andy on his way to the bus. It wasn’t Pete’s usual crying. Pete’s crying was, surprisingly, silent. His crying was being mindful to others and not letting them hear. He’s silent, not noticeable. Pete’s crying never disturbs the peace unless you can see it. That being said, Patrick wasn’t sure what to do.

Patrick’s instinct was to go and comfort whoever was crying. It was all he wanted to do. But, depending on who it was, it could be a bad idea. If it were Joe, he would grab some water and bring it to him. He would rub his back and comfort him. If it were Pete… Patrick didn’t know what he would do. Usually, Pete wouldn’t want anyone to see him cry, nor hear it. He always wanted to appear strong to his friends, and especially his enemies. Patrick didn’t know what category he currently fell under. He supposes he would dump the water on Pete’s head, tell him to grow up. After all, Pete had been a dickhead earlier about the lyrics to a song they were working on. Patrick was never going to change the lyric from “I want to make you as lonely as me” to “I want to make you lonelier than me”. It didn’t sound right, didn’t fit the song. Pete argued it had a different emotion attached, but Patrick held strong. It was close enough anyways. 

As Patrick approached the bunk, his shoe brushed over an empty bag that held small crumbs of potato chips. As the crinkle echoed through the bus which was almost silent aside from the small sobs of the other man on the bus, the gasps of breath and the quiet escapes of breath stopped. Whoever it was had to be holding their breath. There was shifting from one of the bunks, and as Patrick got closer, he could tell it was from Pete’s. He stopped in the doorway to the bunk area and stood quietly. Soon after, a figure tumbled out of the bunk and adjusted itself to the now vertical position. 

Facing Patrick was a red-eyed and messy-haired Pete, who tried to play it off as if he had been sleeping, rubbing at his eyes and yawning in a barely convincing way. Had Patrick not known Pete for so long, he would have assumed it was real. Pete looked at Patrick, who was frozen in place. He’d made Pete cry. Pete, who handed him smudged lyrics and opened his heart on the paper yet never showed any signs of being upset in person, was crying because of him. 

Pete looked at Patrick for a minute more before pushing his way out of the bus, shoving Patrick to the side lightly. He left without a word, and he left Patrick’s thoughts wordless.

* * *

With every song written for the album including the extra song for the deluxe version, Fall Out Boy had to start marketing big time. Infinity On High hadn’t been as big of a hit as it could have been, and they needed to pump up their game. Since it was coming close to election time, why not play off that, right? This was, after all, a very important election year. The idea came from Pete. What else do you expect from an almost-PoliSci graduate? They had many other bands help out with the whole thing, and it did get fans excited. Well, somewhat.

They had high hopes.

* * *

Fans had been on edge for weeks. After the release date was pushed back, everyone had been itching to hear the new album. With no leaks at all, fans were getting impatient. So, when the release date finally came, the boys were exhausted, and the fans were… not as responsive. The sales were at a low, feedback was almost completely negative. They got the usual criticisms. They sold out. They changed. It’s too different. It was like they never could give what people wanted. In the end, the fans could tell it wasn’t a team effort. It wasn’t even a pair effort. It was the equivalent of a group project with a pushy partner. No one was allowed to do anything, it was all up to Patrick. Naturally, Patrick took the news the hardest. Sure, it hurt Pete too. Pete, who wrote the meaning behind each song, was hit hard, but not as hard as Patrick. 

Patrick had composed the music, had shaped the album up to what it was, and had all of it shattered before his eyes. Not only was he harshly criticized, but he was also judged due to his appearance. He had taken hits because of his far from average style, his sideburns, and everything inbetween. Now, of course, people were aiming at his belly, thighs, arms… anywhere with a little bit of flab. 

Patrick ended up locking himself away during meals, hiding out in his room. No one could say what he was doing, because he would never talk about it, never show signs that anything was wrong. 

No one would ask for help.

* * *

The split was inevitable. They all needed a break from each other, but the idea was mostly Patrick’s. He needed an out from the spotlight. 

Pete had protested with all his might. His band was all he had, what with his crumbling relationship with Ashlee. They were his best friends, and he was going to be separated from all of them. 

Joe and Andy had resigned long ago, just waiting for it to all fall apart. The two knew they needed the time, but they were worried for their friends. They were aware of the tough times ahead, but they were to stick together. 

Patrick was still itching to make music, and decided to release some in 2011. Maybe, just maybe, people would like it. Those people were far and few.

Pete needed something, anything to fill the gap that was left. He opened bars, he DJ’d, he worked with his label. His wife left him, and he was alone.

* * *

So, yeah. Ask Fall Out Boy why they don’t like Folie A Deux, they probably won’t tell you the truth. At most, you’ll get something sugarcoated like “the sound didn’t work” or “it was too chaotic and angry”. The truth, well, no one can be too sure. There’s theories everywhere, after all. There’s no way to be sure which one is the complete truth. But, if you have the time, picking apart detail after detail, cross checking and checking again, reading between the lines, you may come up with something pretty close to the full story.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu with them comments yo. gotta have that feedback man


End file.
